


Happy New Year

by gracefulblue



Series: It's Friendship [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, dadstiel, i wrote this in one sitting and im so tired, idk - Freeform, just wanted to write something to ring in the new year, no star wars in this one but that's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:49:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5600323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefulblue/pseuds/gracefulblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean couldn't wait to start a brand new year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy New Year

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY 2016!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Or just happy Friday idk when your calendar starts but ANYWay this isn't the best thing i've ever written but c'est la vie sometimes you just gotta get the crap out before you can get to the good stuff. as always you can reach me at [graceful-blue](http://graceful-blue.tumbler.com/%22), or say my name three times in a mirror and i'll show up to pet your animals and compliment you, they both work fine.

It was only 8:30, and both Emma and Claire were already dead to the world, passed out in their nest of pillows and blankets and other soft things they’d accumulated and claimed as their own. Dean watched them with a fond grin, feet kicked up on Cas’ coffee table and beer in hand. He’d expected them to last longer, with the sheer amount of sugar they’d consumed in a 12 hour period. Not that he was complaining--the quiet was better than classic rock.

  


When Cas joined him on the couch, Dean smiled at him. “They’re like little angels,” he commented, voice lowered to a quiet murmur. Cas nodded his agreement.

  


Dean sighed and took a swig. “Thanks for letting us stay here, man,” he said quietly, eyes dropping back to his daughter. “I had no idea the landlord would do that to us.” When he’d come home during his lunch break the week before to different locks and their measly pile of possessions sitting out in the hall, he’d wanted to curl up in a ball and never get up again, not for anything. He’d worked so hard, so _goddamn_ _hard_ to keep a roof over his baby girls head, and that douchebag Zachariah had to go and kick them out on their asses because, what, his mentally disabled neighbor thought he heard satan dancing in their kitchen? The part of Dean that didn’t want to curl up for the rest of his life wanted to steal his daughter away and set the world on fire.

  


It just happened that Cas had chosen the exact perfect time to call.

  


So here they were, Emma easily sharing a room with Claire, and Dean with his own room for the first time in his entire life. It even had a bathroom, with a bathtub and everything. It was the best living situation he’d ever had, and seeing his daughter smile nearly 24/7 was just the icing on the cake. 

  


Cas laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, eyes soft. “It’s the least I can do for you and Emma. In the short time we’ve known each other, it already feel like you’re part of the family.”

  


Dean chuckled and raised his beer. “I’ll drink to that.” With a toast, they both finished their drinks. 

  


Besides the occasional muffled firework, the night was quiet. Conversation was light, going from previous living situations (“Me and Sammy always shared a room, but the best times were when we stayed with Bobby and got bunk beds,”) to siblings (“There’s five of us. I’m the oldest boy, but there’s only one girl, the youngest. We all doted on Hannah.”) and finally anecdotes about their daughters.

  


“When Lydia was still pregnant with Emma, I would read books to her. She always kicked the most when I read We’re Going On A Bear Hunt, so I guess it makes sense that that’s her favorite bedtime story.” Dean said it with a smile, eyes crinkled softly at the edges. He’d never get tired of having Emma in his lap, blurting out the words before he could say them, insisting that he “do the right sounds, Daddy.” He knew it wouldn’t last forever, but he was Egyptian, and he thrived off denial. 

  


Cas chuckled. “Claire and I have been working our way through The Hobbit, and she’s adamant that I get all the voices correct.”

  


They stayed up til 10, neither of them particularly keen on staying up for the new year. So with each dad carrying his own daughter, they made their way to bed.

  


Dean couldn’t wait to start a brand new year.

  


~~~

  


It was a quarter to midnight when Castiel woke up to Dean crying.

  


It wasn’t loud, but he was so attuned to the sounds of distress, he was wide awake as soon as he heard the whimpers.

  


Apparently, so was Emma.

  


He saw the six-year-old make her way across the hall to Dean’s room, pillow dragging on the ground and eyelids drooping with sleep. He watched her from his doorway, only moving when she entered the room.

  


Dean was a wreck. He was tossing and turning, face twisted and cheeks streaked with tears. He was mumbling--in pain, or fear, Castiel couldn’t say. It broke his heart.

  


With practiced movements, Emma positioned herself on the edge of the bed--it looked like she would be out of reach if Dean was to hold his arm out--set her pillow upright in Dean’s lap, and tapped his arm.

  


In a flash of movement, Dean’s arm lashed out, something shiny and metal flashed in the darkness, the pillow went flying, Dean was sitting up, and Castiel had never seen such an all-consuming look of rage and fear cover Dean’s face.

  


The most surprising thing wasn’t the knife, or the lightning fast reaction, or the terrifying expression, it was how calm Emma looked.

  


When Dean saw who was sitting in front of him, the fear and anger melted away, replaced with a man who was utterly exhausted, both inside and out. The knife dropped to the floor with a clang, and he held open his arms for his daughter.

  


They settled on their sides, Emma’s arms wrapped around Dean’s neck and Dean’s face pressed into Emma’s hair. It was hard to see, but it looked like he was shaking.

  


“Bad dreams can’t hurt you, Daddy,” Emma said, tiny voice soft and sure. “Just like movies, right?”

“Right,” came his gruff, definitely shaking, voice. “It’s just a story.”

  


Somewhere in the house, the clock chimed, officially ringing in 2016.

  


“Happy New Year, baby girl,” Dean said, hand stroking Emma’s strawberry blond curls.

  
Castiel turned away, to go check his daughter and make sure she was sleeping sweetly, when the same gruff voice behind him said, “Happy New Years, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't as fluffly as the last two, but that's okay, because a man cannot dine on fluff alone. Also, i think this is the last fic i'm gonna do where they're 6 years old.


End file.
